‘Just around the corner from the office, in York Square. You probably know it; it’s a Georgian square behind the Town Hall.’
‘I know. Very handsome houses; they’ve been well preserved, too. Has your family lived there long?’
‘My father was born in the house; I’ve lived there all my life. It’s a warm, family house; we love it.’
‘But you’re planning to move out, all the same, when your cottage is fit for occupation?’
‘There are quite a lot of us,’ Clare unwillingly explained. Why did he ask so many questions? ‘I’d like to have more room to myself.’
‘You have a lot of brothers and sisters?’
‘Two brothers and a sister,’ she said. ‘And there are only four bedrooms between all of us. Dad has one to himself, so do my brothers, because Robin is a student, and needs somewhere private to study, and so my little brother, Jamie, has the tiny boxroom to himself, and I share a bedroom with my sister.’
‘How old is she?’
Helen stirred resentfully. ‘Do stop asking her questions, Denzil! You sound like a TV chat show host!’
He laughed, but Clare saw his long hands tighten on the wheel, the knuckles briefly showing white, and suspected he hadn’t liked being pulled up by Helen in that way.
For a while he drove in silence, then they reached town and began to navigate a way through the one-way-street system until they came to York Square. The early nineteenth-century houses ran on each side of the square with well-cared-for gardens in the centre, set back behind green-painted Victorian railings. It gave the square a feel of the country, especially in summer, when the trees and bushes were in full leaf, and there was a scent of flowers on the air.
‘Which house?’ Denzil Black asked and Clare leaned forward to point.
‘That one, by the street-lamp, with the holly trees in the garden.’
He parked under the street-light, and Clare politely thanked him. ‘I’ll let Helen know my client’s decision as soon as possible,’ she promised. ‘Goodnight, Helen.’
Helen sleepily murmured, ‘Night.’
Denzil Black got out of the car and came round to open Clare’s door. ‘Thanks,’ she said, avoiding his hand as he tried to help her out. ‘Goodnight, Mr Black.’
Before she could walk away, the front door of the house opened and in the yellow light from the hallway a girl was outlined, her face framed in a cloud of long, smooth silvery fair hair.
‘Who’s that?’ Denzil Black’s voice had altered. Clare shot a look up at him and frowned, not answering.
There was a long silence, while the girl began walking towards them.
‘Is that your sister?’ asked Denzil Black slowly, and Clare answered him in a chilly voice.
‘Yes.’ She wished Lucy hadn’t come out just now. Clare was intensely protective towards her sister, and she was also deeply intuitive; her intuition told her now that it wouldn’t be a good idea for Lucy to meet Denzil Black.
‘Goodnight, Mr Black,’ Clare said, willing him to get back into the car and drive away.
He didn’t. He stood there, watching Lucy stroll down the garden path towards them, his face intent. Clare gritted her teeth. She would have loved to know what he was thinking.
As Lucy came into the circle of lamplight at the gate she paused, smiling, her oval face taking on a shimmering quality. She wasn’t wearing make-up, and yet her skin was perfect, smooth and clear.
She and Clare shared the same colouring, yet there was an immense difference between them. Clare knew that she herself was very attractive, and men always liked the look of her, but Lucy was, quite simply, beautiful.
More than that, she had a mysterious radiance which was partly due to her very fair skin, the long, flowing golden hair framing her face, her eyes, which were a deeper blue than Clare’s, and partly to a childlike nature.
Perhaps because her family had always spoilt her, Lucy had never quite, it seemed to Clare, grown up, yet she was so lovable that it didn’t matter. Lucy was kind-hearted, loving, generous. Clare had always worried over her, afraid that some day someone would hurt Lucy. It had been a great relief to her when Lucy got engaged to someone who, she knew, would never make her little sister unhappy.
‘What a fabulous car!’ Lucy said as soon as she was within earshot. ‘It’s a Lamborghini, isn’t it?’ She gave Denzil Black a fascinated look. ‘Is it yours? Hello, I’m Lucy, Clare’s sister. We haven’t met before, have we?’
‘I’d remember if we had,’ he said, his jet pupils glittering as he took the hand Lucy held out to him. He bent and kissed it and Lucy gave a startled gasp, then laughed.
‘You aren’t French, are you?’
He laughed. ‘I had a French grandmother—does that count?’
‘Of course. I knew it—you look French!’
‘I’d be here all night if I started talking about the way you look!’ he murmured, and Lucy blushed and laughed excitedly.
Clare was so angry that her teeth hurt. ‘Helen is in a hurry to get home, remember,’ she told Denzil Black tightly.
He gave her a dry look, then glanced towards the car, and at that moment Helen leaned forward and banged peremptorily on the window, gesturing.
‘Denzil!’ they all heard her call crossly.
He gave her a wave, looked down at Lucy, smiled, his eyes glowing and dark-centred.
‘I’m afraid I have to go, and I’m leaving for the States tomorrow for a couple of months, but I’ll be back—we’ll meet again.’
He got back into the car, the engine fired and the Lamborghini moved off with a dulcet roar.
‘I want that car,’ Lucy said dreamily. ‘Isn’t it heavenly? And him...what did he say his name was? Denzil something? That’s a very unusual name; I’ve never met anyone called Denzil before. Is he your new boyfriend, Clare? You’ve never mentioned him—have you been keeping him a secret? He’s as gorgeous as his car. I’ve never seen anyone like him—where did you find him and why is he with Helen Sherrard? Tell me all about him.’
‘He isn’t my boyfriend. I barely know the man; he’s just a client.’ Clare tried not to lose her temper, but her voice was raw and she felt Lucy staring at her in surprise. It was very unusual for Clare to show temper.
‘What’s the matter?’ Lucy asked uncertainly.
‘Oh, never mind. Let’s get indoors, it’s cold,’ Clare said, walking towards the house, very fast.
She had not liked the acquisitive way Denzil Black had been looking at Lucy. She barely knew the man, but she did not like or trust him.
Despite the temptation of her own share of the purchase price on Dark Tarn, she hoped the owner would turn down Denzil Black’s offer for the house. Then, maybe, Denzil Black would go away and find somewhere else to live, and she needn’t worry about what might happen next time he met her little sister.
CHAPTER TWO
THE owner, however, accepted Denzil Black’s offer at once. ‘So we’ve managed to get rid of that white elephant at last!’ Clare’s father said, hearing the news, then gave her a shrewd look. ‘You don’t look overjoyed! Got doubts about the buyer’s ability to pay?’
‘No,’ Clare said grimly, not bothering to explain the doubts she did have, and went to ring Helen Sherrard.
‘Oh,